


The Wiccan Protocol

by Pride_Before_The_Fall



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Derek is Derek, F/M, M/M, Magic, Original Wiccan Characters, Protective Derek, no beta we die like (wo)men, yes i know i have other stories i should be updating but i went and wrote this instead?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-10
Updated: 2020-06-22
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:42:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22654189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pride_Before_The_Fall/pseuds/Pride_Before_The_Fall
Summary: In which, happy and well-adjusted just doesn't last in Beacon Hills.Ophelia Connor (our 'happy and well-adjusted') is starting her senior year and is, honestly, really excited about it all.... really.Finding out that she was a witch?Slightly less so, but she can roll with it, she's always looked good in a hat.— but watching a hulking monster, with red eyes, tear down the street like some horror movie cliché, however, was a firm 'fuck no.'
Relationships: Danny Mahealani/boys, Derek Hale/Original Female Character(s), Erica Reyes/Vernon Boyd, Lydia Martin/Jackson Whittemore
Comments: 7
Kudos: 33





	1. i.

**Author's Note:**

> Can I add, I'm not extremely happy with this chapter? :/

_"-and then, do you know what he does?"_

Shifting the phone to rest against her shoulder, Ophelia grabs a small vial out of the medicine cabinet, "No, what?" Her nose wrinkles as she reads _'powdered asphodel and chestnut,'_ on the hand written lable; she puts it back and grabs another. Honestly, how many different perfumes can her mother make?

_"He tells me he **can't** , like dude, you just did, and now you're scared you'll, what? Get arrested?"_

Ophelia pauses, her expression twisting and the vial of rosemary and mint held in her grasp –her finger covering the open end of the stopper– freezes with her, mid-shake, "Whoa, whoa, back up a quick sec. How old is he?"

Danny sighs, exasperated, _"Phelia, he's like your age, or something-"_

Ophelia pulls back from the phone to stare at it, she narrows her eyes and hopes he can feel the force of her glare. "That's _not_ reassuring, Danny." 

And it's really not, considering Ophelia just turned eighteen and Danny doesn't turn seventeen for another six months.

_"Look, no more than two years older than me, max; promise."_

They were _so_ having a conversation about this later, Ophelia rolls her eyes and dabs some of the perfumed oil on her wrists. "Fair enough, I better not find out you're lying to me, but keep going."

 _"Though, the way he performed you'd think he was fourteen,"_ Danny mutters bitterly.

Ophelia makes a face and interupts his little sex-deprived mumbles, "-been with a lot of fourteen-year-olds lately, Danny?" 

_"Ugh."_

Going by the disgusted sound coming through the receiver, she'll take that as a resounding 'No!' 

_"No, but I was fourteen once-"_

Ophelia snorts, and remarks, "Yeah, like two years ago." She makes her way out of the bathroom, dirty clothes in hand and her damp hair dripping a trail behind her, "You probably _perform_ the same then," she mocks.

Danny continues on, without acknowledging her, frankly amazing comment, _"-and let me tell you, I had more game at thirteen, then he did in his tiny, itty, bitty, lil baby, dic-"_

"Okay!" She interupts, "I got the picture, Mr. Horn-dog, you're sexually frustrated and that sucks, really, it does. But, I don't need to hear about someone's penis size or lack thereof. " Ophelia slouches back against her headboard, waiting for her hair to dry. 

Danny sighs loudly, all his frustrated vitrol evaporating into nothing, _"Sorry."_

Honestly, Danny –bless his little hormone driven soul– can be a little too dramatic. 

She tells him so.

 _"And? I'm allowed to be dramatic. My flavor of the month bailed on me and I lost my I.D; I can't even go back to the jungle and pick out a new one,"_ Danny whines.

Ophelia laughs, "I'm hanging up now," she informs him, glancing at the clock.

_"Okay, but we're not done talking about this."_

"Just bring coffee and I'll listen," Ophelia promises, as long as the coffee had tons of sugar in it, she'd be willing to listen to his teenage melodrama for however long he wanted to rant, it's not like she has anything better to do; plus, it's not like she hasn't done _worse_ for free caffeine. 

"I'll hold you to it, I mean it 'Phelia."

"Okay, love you, babes."

_"Yeah, yeah, love you too."_

The call ends with a _click_ , the dial tone the only thing left behind from their converstaion.

And then there was one.

Her head drops back against the headboard, and she puffs her cheeks out in a show of exhaustion. 

This is so not how she expected her senior year to go. It's the first day and she already has practice, but at least the swim team won't be alone in their misery. The lacrosse coach was just as crazy as Coach Lahey; making the varsity and first-line teams double practice: once in the morning at six and another after school.

Her muscles were _so_ not ready for this and she hasn't even left the house yet.

Throwing her phone on her bed, Ophelia gets up and blow dries her hair. Why she thought she'd have time for it to air dry, she doesn't know.

* * *

The smell of bacon and frying eggs makes its way up the stairs, luring Ophelia away from her make up table. 

Taking one last quick-check in the mirror to make sure her lipstick hadn't smudged, she shoves her makeup bag in her athletics duffel.

She'll put her non-waterproof makeup on after practice.

She drops the ladder down and lets her bag drop on the carpet below; her purse hangs over her shoulder, textbooks crammed inside. 

Ophelia's room being in the attic was probably one of the best decisions she's ever made. Not only did she get privacy and space, she also got ownership of the balcony garden attached and the green house on the roof– and wasn't _that_ a battle she had to fight when she was sixteen.

Her mother being the green thumb she was, loathed to depart from any potting space- even if she never used it till Ophelia mentioned moving. Their arguments were long and extensive, but not vicious, as they argued over her ability to care for something other than herself.

But her father, the laid-back mediator, cut a deal. If Ophelia could clean out and redecorate the attic with her own money and hardwork, then the whole attic and all it's attaches would be hers.

You best believe Ophelia cleaned the shit out of that attic. She's honestly quite proud about it, everything in her room is inexplicably, indisputably, and undeniably hers. 

It only took her a few months of dedicated work –and constant bribing of Danny to solicit extra hands– to finish cleaning out the space. So, now, for the past two years, she's been the pround owner of a psuedo loft; and _god_ does she love it.

The satisfaction that tingles up her spine every time she slides down _her_ ladder is completely gratifying. 

Like now, as she grabs either side of the ladder and just slips right down to the floor, still as amazing as it was the first time she did it.

She picks up her bag from the ground and shoulders it as she shoves the ladder back up into the ceiling; the crystal charm she has dangling from it, shining in the light.

Her boots tap out a rapid beat against the stairs as she makes her way to the kitchen. She's starving, especially now that the swim season is beginning; she's going to need a lot of calories to get to the end of it in one piece.

When Ophelia slides into the kitchen, her mother already has a bowl of hashbrowns, fried eggs, and turkey bacon put together on the counter. Has Ophelia ever mentioned how much she loves her mother?

She feels a smile crawl up her face as she slows down, the hunger clawing up her stomach immense, but she stops to put her bags down anyway and moves behind her mother.

Ophelia latches on to her back like a limpet.

"Ophie, baby-girl, you're gonna squish the baby," her mother laughs, turning the pan over to slide eggs into an empty bowl on the counter. Ophelia doesn't let go, but moves her arms away from the prominent bump in her mother's stomach. Her hands latch onto the sides of her mother's shirt instead.

"Thank you for making me food," she mumbles into the back of her mother's neck. Despite the long, red hair tickling her face, Ophelia still nuzzles in close. 

Her mother reach behind her and pats Ophelia's thigh, "You're welcome, babes, now go eat, you have pratice in twenty," She shoos.

Yes, Ophelia loves her mother so much, that she's surprised that she even has enough room to love the other three –soon to be four– members of her family; but room she does.

"Aren't we lucky that our firstborn is still willing to hang with us old people, Clara?" Her father teases from the doorway, twin toddlers on each hip.

Her mother scoffs softly as Ophelia moves away towards her food on the island. Her father drops the twins into booster-seats next to her, pressing a passing kiss to Ophelia's head as he swings by.

"Speak for yourself, babe, I'm in my prime," her mother turns around with a flourish, one hand on her hip and the other up in the air, a spatula still in her grasp as she strikes a pose, " _All_ this, and not a single gray hair or wrinkle in sight," she brags, "You're a lucky man, Alfie Connor."

He smiles, amused as he comes around the island, "And _you're_ burning the eggs, darling." He reaches behind her to turn the stove off. Her mom doesn't seem to care as she reaches forward to press her lips against her dad's. 

Ophelia smiles into her food, the twins are still waking up next to her, so they don't see this absolute, Nicholas-Sparks-worthy scene happening in the middle of the kitchen.

When they pull apart her father murmurs against her mother's lips, "A very, _very_ , lucky man indeed."

Her mother just laughs in response.

* * *

Quickly scarfing down the rest of her food, Ophelia drops the dishes into the sink. She takes a quick glance at the clock as she's gathering her bags.

She has ten minutes until practice starts.

She sweeps by her parents and drops kisses on both their cheeks. The twins make grabby hands as she walks past, and she can't not give them kisses as well can she?

No, she can't, so they _too_ get kisses, _careful_ kisses as they're both covered in eggy bits and yolk. She grabs her sports jacket off the hook by the door and makes her way out. 

She's so not looking forward to Coach Lahey and his–

"Ophie! Don't forget the candle!"

–stupid whistle. 

Ophelia turns right back around to go inside. Of course, how can she forget the stupid candle? Honestly, she has no idea why the first person to leave the house has to light the large ass candle in their foyer, but she does it any way; so it obviously doesn't bother her as much as she thinks it does.

She snags one of the matches and strikes it against the matchbox, the flame comes eagerly as she lights the candle and whispers, "Have nice day, Willow Manor," feeling like an idiot the whole time.

But, hey, it makes her parents happy and that's all she really cares about; it's not like its a real inconvenience anyway. 

She walks back to the door and the soft sounds of her parents teaching her siblings nursery rhymes follow her. 

Besides, maybe Willow Manor _likes_ being greeted every day. Who's Ophelia to judge?

She takes a deep breath before she walks past the threshold, the smell of blue-sage and lavender lingering by the door, and when she gets in her car, the last thing she sees is the Chrysanthemums waving goodbye from their place in the window box.


	2. ii.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Have a nice day, Daniel!" she continues on down the hallway, chugging her coffee down before she has to listen to Coach Lahey bitch about drinking caffeine before practice. There's a reason why the swim team calls him 'The Dick with A Whistle.'
> 
> Because that's essentially what he was, a _dick_ with a _whistle_.

  
The parking lot is predictably lifeless when she pulls in. It's just her, empty cars, and the slow crunch of gravel as the car comes to a stop.

She shuts the engine off before it starts doing that weird sputtering thing it's known to do when stationary. 

She should really get that fixed, but it hasn't died on her yet and there's no use trying to fix something that isn't broke. (Or so she tells herself when it stalls at every red light in town.) 

Ophelia's feet are quiet as they make their way across the lot. 

There's a dark-haired boy standing with his back to her in front of the school, a cup of coffee in his hand from that expensive shop downtown, 'Expressions of Espresso.' Ophelia can literally feel the caffeine addict in her perk up like a bloodhound on a hunt.

But she's got a plan for this.

Slowly sneaking up behind him, Ophelia makes sure one of her hands are ready to catch the cup in case he drops it. 

She's barely an inch away from his back when she leans in so close her breath brushes his ear, "Boo!"

He jumps and fumbles with his phone, Ophelia swoops in for her prize before he can drop the cup though, so all is well.

"Dammit, 'Phelia," Danny curses under his breath as he turns around, his face unamused. 

His loss then, it was freaking hilarious in Ophelia's opinion. She takes a slow sip of her drink, testing the temperature, before taking huge gulps of the hot liquid. 

Sweet, sweet, sugar oh how she's missed it.

It tastes even better now, she knows, because it was free. Her eyes open - when had she closed them? - to Danny and his _adorable_ bitch face. 

"Thank you!" she chirps just to mess with him and walks past his incredulous form to the entrance of the school. His steps are right behind her as she shoves her shoulder against the door to open it; one hand holding her bag and the other holding the secret to all of mankind's problems – _coffee_.

"Phe, I just bought you the best coffee in town and you're just going to ignore me?" Danny whines.

Ophelia snorts and turns around so she can face him as they walk down the hall. "First of all, we _both_ know that you got Jackson to buy this for you," she points out, still walking backward. "Second of all, I am not _ignoring_ you, you just haven't said anything interesting yet," she shrugs and turns back around as they come up to the boy's locker room. 

"And your final point is?"

"We're late Daniel," his feet stumble for a second before he darts past, shooting her a look. She can hear Finstock yelling the minute the door is open, so she knows he noticed Danny being late.

"You couldn't have led with that!?" Danny yells over his shoulder as he slides into the locker room.

"Have a nice day, Daniel!" she continues on down the hallway, chugging her coffee down before she has to listen to Coach Lahey bitch about drinking caffeine before practice. There's a reason why the swim team calls him 'The Dick with A Whistle.'

Because that's essentially what he was, a _dick_ with a _whistle_. 

Thank god she'll only have him for this last year of school before she graduates. She doesn't think she'll be able to handle any more time with the guy than she has to; she might actually act on one of those fantasies she has of shoving that stupid whistle down his throat. No one would stop her, she knows; they'd just cheer her on and when the time came, she'd have fifteen witnesses coming to her defense. 

But it wouldn't look good on her college applications, so despite the overall student body approval, she won't actually do it. Besides as much of a hard-ass he was, he isn't a monster and it wasn't her job to put him down.

Tapping the bottom of her cup, Ophelia struggles to get that one last drop of lifeblood, before she ultimately gives up with a mournful sigh.

She chucks it in the trashcan a few feet before her, lining her shot up like Kobe Bryant, "she shoots and she scores!" she whisper-shouts to herself as the cup rolls around the rim of the can before sliding in. 

She spins and throws a fist up, bags flying in the air with her, "and the crowd goes wild!" 

Someone snorts.

Ophelia stops to look, and there, outside of Coach Lahey's office, is a blonde guy with curly locks that put Shirley Temple to shame -not really, but Ophelia likes to think so. 

His eyes widen at being caught staring, large puppy-dog-blue surrounded by mottled purple and black and for just a moment, Ophelia sees Logan and Lena, her twin siblings, in his eyes. They all have the same blue, watery orbs.

But Ophelia ignores it to focus on the bruising. 

The dude's got some serious shiners happening on his face, and it makes Ophelia feel weird inside, almost like dread or anxiety, something heavy and uncomfortable in her chest, but that doesn't make _sense_. 

The guy obviously has a lacrosse Jersey on- what little she can see of it, peeking out from his backpack- so the most logical conclusion is some roughhousing on the field, or serious hazing from his teammates. She'll have to ask Danny about it.

Ophelia shakes off her dark feelings and smiles at the guy, before dipping down into a bow and tipping her imaginary hat in his direction, "Thank you, thank you. I'm here all week."

He doesn't stop looking like a deer caught in headlights, but his body relaxes. She keeps smiling at him even as she walks closer.

The guy has his hands full carrying papers, but he still tries to open the door to Coach's office.

"Do you need help?"

He fumbles with the keys once more before admitting defeat and holds the keys out in Ophelia's direction.

They get the door open and the guy puts the papers on the desk before shuffling out with her, locking the door behind him as they went.

They stand awkwardly for a second, the guy - the boy- pulling on his sleeves so that they bunch up in his twisting fingers, restless; it makes him look younger than he actually is.

He fidgets just like her brother does when he's in trouble.

Ophelia shakes her head to get rid of the thought, why would this guy be pulling on her protective instincts so badly? She doesn't even know his name or what year he's in.

He's not her brother, so why does she feel like she wants to kick the shit out of the person who did that to his face?

"I-I, uh, have to get to practice," he practically whispers, nervous and shoulders hunched.

She nods her head, "Me too, are you first-line?" she motions to his jersey and ignores his flinch when her hand moves to fast in his direction.

That's not a good sign.

"No, I come with my dad early sometimes, and C-Coach said I could practice in the morning with the team. I-it's not mandatory for all players, m-morning practice I mean, j-just for first-line; but all players can come." He stutters his way through, his fingers twisting and turning faster in the fabric of his black under-armor.

Ophelia swallows, her stomach is starting to feel queasy with nerves, but she's not nervous- is she? 

She tries to ignore it for now, "I'm Ophelia Connor, Senior; but you can call me Phe," she makes sure her movements are slow as she raises her hand for a handshake.

His hands are clammy and trembling, and his grip feels more like it's running away then holding on.

She doesn't comment on it.

He gives her a small smile, "I-Isaac, Sophomore," and with that, they depart from each other, Isaac to lacrosse and Ophelia to the pool.

Isaac is almost too far away for him to hear when she makes the impulsive decision to call his name, "Isaac!" his head snaps around to look at her and she swallows, but the tightness in her chest and the dread building in her heart make her continue.

"If you ever need help with something, I live at the end of Belladonna Drive! I'm really good at Chemistry!" 

She walks away without checking to see his reaction.

She has no idea why she just told some guy where she lived, a _minor_ at that. She may have only turned eighteen last week, but she's not as daring as Danny to literally _flirt_ with the law.

But, there's just something about his eyes and the way he smiles like it _hurts_ , something that makes her think of her siblings and how she never wants them to look at her the way Isaac did.

Like he was waiting for her to hurt him. 


	3. iii.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not extremely happy with this chapter, tbh. :/

  
_“…we’re sorry to announce that Varsity Swim practice has been canceled this evening. If you have any...”_

Ophelia can’t be bothered to listen to the rest of the announcement, choosing instead to send a smug smirk at Danny’s cute little disbelieving face– he glares back. She laughs, before turning her eyes back to the lunch line where her smile abruptly drops as the lunch lady drops a scoop of…something on her tray.

She watches morbidly as it twitches and seems to seep over onto her peas and _eat_ them– a small bubble forms and pops much like how a burp goes. Ophelia’s eyes flit back to the lunch lady hesitantly.

“….mashed potatoes?” she tries hopefully, but the lunch lady just stares back blankly before shrugging.

Great, just…great.

* * *

  
Sadly, come last bell, Ophelia still has to go to Danny’s practice. 

So here she is, sitting on the bleachers, waiting to watch a bunch of meathead jocks talk sticks and balls.

She sighs and unhooks her bag from her shoulder, shoving both it and her duffel under the edge of her seat. Maybe she can hop the fence and walk around the edge of the lacrosse field to stand behind the goal. Preemptively placing her behind Danny, for when he inevitably takes his place in goal.

They can gossip about whose fucking who this week, it’ll be great.

Ophelia gets up just as Lydia and some brunette come clamoring up the stairs.

“Phe! Where do you think you’re going?” Lydia miraculously makes her way to the top without falling in those five-inch deathtraps she calls boots.

Ophelia continues past her, “Senior business, nothing for you to worry you’re little Sophomore heads about,” she throws in a bright smile to take the sting out of her dismissal. Lydia could take a lot of things, but being dismissed was not one of them.

Ophelia wraps her varsity ‘BHHS Swim Captain’ jacket tighter around her as she steps off the bleachers and onto the field. The lacrosse team begins to make their way to bleachers to put their gear down.

Ophelia’s own white sneakers are immaculately clean compared to the dirty-ass cleats of the team. Her red hair is pulled back in a high-ponytail despite her freezing ears, the metal embedded in her lobes and cartilage turning ice cold against her skin.

Ophelia picks up her pace as she nears the fence and with a quick bounce, one of her hands land on the railing, and the rest of her body goes flying over easily. Her feet land with a crunch of snapped twigs and forest floor leaves.

The taste of pine settles into the back of her throat and she can’t help but find comfort in it.

“Nice landing.”

Ophelia’s head snaps up and locks eyes with the most gorgeous pair of green eyes she has ever seen. 

Now, Ophelia has seen some pretty hot guys in the past when she’d go with Danny to the Jungle, but this one has to take the proverbial cake; even better, he might actually be straight enough to let her ask him out on a date.

“Thanks,” she turns on the charm and walks closer to his leather-clad form, the taste of pine intensifying oddly enough. “I’d like to say it’s all skill, but that fence is like five feet, and I got a good solid seven inches on it.”

Talk, dark, and leather just hums, but she’s picked up a guy in a gay bar before, it’ll take more than silence to turn her off. 

“I’m Ophelia,” she sticks her hand out for a handshake, for a lack of a better thing to do really, because something in Ophelia is telling her that he wouldn’t appreciate it if she just started climbing him like a tree. “But I tend to let people use a nickname for me if Ophelia gets too long.”

Oh, but what a lovely tree he’d be.

His head cocks to the side for a quick second before he shakes her hand, “Derek.” 

Her heart skips a beat, a ‘Derek' sounds like the kind of guy who wouldn’t mind testing out the suspension on her car. A ‘ _Derek'_ sounds like the guy you don’t want your parents to meet. A ‘Derek' sounds like a serious case of beard-burn she wouldn’t mind having. _This_ Derek, who’s face just completely changed into one of amusement, who’s two front teeth just peeked out from behind his lips as they spread into a small smile –sounds like someone Ophelia wants to date.

Or just sleep with, she’s not picky.

* * *

First, though, she has to find out why he’s watching teen boys run around in shorts on a school campus.

Ophelia and Derek lean against the chain-link fence and watch the lacrosse team spread out.

“So, are you here to pick up someone? A sibling perhaps?” _A girlfriend?_ She drawls out, propping one arm on the fence to hold her head up as she looks at Derek’s profile. Her other land is wrapped around her necklace, hoping the four-leaf clover on it will give her luck.

The corner of his mouth perks up in slightly and her heart pounds in her chest, god why did he have to have a smile like that?

And, oh god, is his smile getting bigger? Ophelia swallows, but otherwise makes no other outward markers of being besotted.

  
“No, I used to go here. I just wanted to see what the line-up looked like now.” His head tilts in her direction, “Why’re you here? Boyfriend on the team?”

Ophelia can’t help the sly smile that climbs up her face, “No, I’m single. Why? Interested?” her smile slowly morphs into a smirk at his surprised look.

Derek is facing her fully now, “I don’t date minors,” he says it slowly like it wasn’t an obvious conclusion to come to, but she ignores it.

Ophelia blatantly looks him over and hums, “21? 22?” let him think she’s vapid and hormone-driven, she just wants him to agree to a date, Ophelia will prove him wrong, just like every other guy who thought she was as dumb as Lydia Martin acted.

Derek’s eyes narrow, most likely thinking she’s going to be jailbait, “Yeah, 22.” Ophelia tries not to be distracted by how his biceps seem to literally pop from under his leather jacket when he crosses his arms. 

She hopes he’s doing it on purpose.

“I’m 18 and free this Friday evening.”

“ _Are_ you?”

“Yep, but the real question is, are you?”

Derek stares and Ophelia can’t stop the wink she shoots him even if she tried.

(…which she didn’t, why stop a good thing after all?)

* * *

_What a productive day_ , she thinks to herself smugly. Body buzzing with excitement and merriment, Ophelia pictures Danny’s face and inwardly cackles.

Ophelia makes it home in one piece, and her family is gathered in the living-room for family time. Her parents are sitting at the coffee table, snakes and ladders laid out, the twins are playing on the floor with blocks. 

It’s late August, so the air is still warm and heavy, the windows are cracked, huge floor-to-ceiling panels pushed open just far enough for air to circulate. The smell of Bergamot tea wafts from a cup at her Mother’s elbow, and her Father’s own mug smells of Chamomile. Personally, Ophelia finds the leaf juice to be entirely too bitter. But that’s the sugar addict in her talking.

Mom lifts her head from where she’s setting up the board, “Hey, Ophie, go get changed,” she motions to the stairs and Ophelia is quick to comply.

When she comes back down the stairs, there’s a cup of hot chocolate waiting for her, despite the hot weather outside Ophelia drinks it greedily.

Ophelia has uncanny luck from the moment she rolls the dice, winning most games with her hand tangled in the brass chain of her necklace, its winding design of a four-leaf clover engraved on the flat, silver disk. Halfway through their game the twins begin bickering, about what Ophelia doesn’t really know, but it all comes to an abrupt stop when Lena screams and throws a block at Logan, hitting him in the head– he bursts into tears.

Their mother pulls him into her lap as Dad deals with the subsequent guilty tears of Lena. “Logie, don’t cry, sweetheart, she didn’t mean to make you cry.” She croons in his ear, swaying with his head tucked under her chin. 

Ophelia snorts, “I’d cry, too if I was called Logie all the time.” Her mother shoots her a look even as Logan lifts his head to smile at Ophelia, his hands reaching out in the universal sign of ‘gimmie.’ He leans so far out of their mother’s lap that Ophelia has to catch him before he tips over; her hands slide under his arms and pull him over to her. 

Her mother sighs, incredulous but humored, “How you’re still their favorite, even when you pick on them, will always be a mystery.” Ophelia just shrugs and rolls the dice. 

_Ten._

Her piece on the board moves to the bottom of a ladder and up it goes; up, up, and up until she reaches the top, winning the game for the fourth time that night. Logan giggles in her lap, his tiny hands clapping happily as their mother groans dramatically.

“She wins again, Clara?” Dad slides his way behind her mother’s form, his legs enclosing her on both sides from his place on the couch. Mother leans back, her head resting on his knee, red hair spilling over like a shimmering curtain and Lena scuttles her way under one of Ophelia’s arms. 

“I guess I’m just lucky.” 

**Author's Note:**

> _Magical attributes:_
> 
> _Mint_ \- Money, healing, strength, augment power, luck, travel.
> 
>  _Rosemary_ \- Improve memory, sleep, purification, youth, love, power, healing, protection, intellectual.
> 
>  _Lavender_ \- Sleep, long life, peace, wishes, protection, love, purification, visions, attracting men, clarity of thought.
> 
>  _Chrysanthemum_ \- Believed to protect against evil spirits an even the wrath of the gods. The flowers are also thought to ease the passage of a dearly departed loved one. Will promote protection around the home when grown in a pot or in the garden. Color does not matter.
> 
>  _Blue Sage_ \- Blue Sage also known as "Grandmother Sage" is a purifying herb with broad medicinal and magical applications. Blue Sage is widely used for cleansing and purification purposes, it provides spiritual strength and sometimes it is also used during exorcism rituals as well to remove the malevolent spirits.
> 
> Blue Sage is also good for healing and cleansing rituals. Its soothing, relaxing smell can be used to aid meditation, or burned simply for enjoyment


End file.
